On the Freeway

Drivers during rush hour share the same inflicted torment that each tries to get the better of—helpless to betray each other. From each point of view the pack is beatable has a beginning and an end, a moment gained is a reason for cutting close— a life risked diminishes banality on the edge the line between resistance and energy— the air that tears us back the internal combustions that drive us on— defining a constant degree of pressure we strive for— the pursuit of happiness against frustration, and fear— the T-shirted truck driver switching lanes— the lady sweating in the sedan pressing the line— lean into it accept the challenge. If the freeway were less crowded more of us would rush in to fill the spaces